


on the same page

by anons



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Jeon Wonwoo centric, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:08:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24508921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anons/pseuds/anons
Summary: The summer before Jeon Wonwoo's third year of college feels like the beginning of a story. [Whisper of the Heart AU]
Relationships: Jeon Wonwoo/Kwon Soonyoung | Hoshi
Comments: 19
Kudos: 85





	on the same page

**Author's Note:**

> loosely based on the studio ghibli film whisper of the heart
> 
> if i'm being completely honest the idea for this fic came from me being dumb because i read the synopsis before watching the film and realized i got it all wrong as the film went on
> 
> i had the luck of stumbling upon this [tweet](https://twitter.com/snwufilms/status/1062002620108177409) while writing this fic so enjoy that image as you read hehe

Shortly after breakfast, Wonwoo lands in a desert in Egypt. Sand pools in the sole of his shoes like the inside of an hourglass but eventually trickle down into the ether when he flies past the Himalayas—three hours after lunch time. At around 5:30, he makes a brief visit in downtown Boston. By 6:15, he’s back in Seoul.

Today’s bookmark is the grocery list he fishes from his pocket. He sticks it between page 23 and 24 and lifts his glasses to rub the fiction off the corner of his eyes. Two finished books today and counting. Maybe he can finish a third one after dinner.

/

“How is it possible,” starts Seulgi, “that you somehow look taller every time I see you two?”

Mingyu laughs, taking two of her luggage. His car keys hang by his waist and chortle with him when it clangs against denim from the heave. “You’re just tiny,” Wonwoo retorts as he takes the rest of her luggage.

“Excuse me,” Seulgi says, “I’m considered one of the taller ones among my friends.”

“Congratulations,” Wonwoo says, tone dry. “You have tiny friends as well.”

Taking the backpack for herself, Seulgi _hmph_ s. “I take it back. I’m not moving in with you anymore.”

“And where will you be living?” Wonwoo snorts. “In your boyfriend’s house?”

At that, Seulgi’s cheeks turn pink as she marches along. Mingyu glances at Wonwoo to share a look with him that spells _yikes_. They move across the station platform and to the street where Mingyu’s car is waiting. From the corner of his eye, a flash of black comes—lightning quick. Wonwoo catches a glimpse of the familiar-looking cat before it disappears between busy feet. His eyes are forced to let go of the chase. The cat must be in a hurry today. It didn’t run that fast yesterday when Wonwoo ran after it.

Mingyu unhooks his car keys off his belt loops. He says, “Aw, I just realized this means Wonwoo-hyung has to give up his mini library. Where are you gonna put all your books?”

“I’ll figure something out,” Wonwoo says as Mingyu unlocks his ancient car. Sure, it’s older than any of them but it works. Foot traffic cross-stitches outside the station as the trains alight more passengers into the youthful night. With a hopeful tone, he adds, “Maybe some of them can stay under Seulgi-noona’s bed?”

“Sorry, Wonwoo,” Seulgi says with a resolute shake of her head. “My shoes already have a reservation in that place. You’re gonna have to try somewhere else.”

Wonwoo says, “One of them has to go. My books versus my sister—what’s your vote, Mingyu-yah?” to which Mingyu just laughs and Seulgi lovingly and purposefully reminds Wonwoo of the time she shut the car door on his fingers when they were kids. Despite the joking tone and the knowledge that Seulgi will never hurt him on purpose, Wonwoo still unconsciously keeps his fingers off the doors as they load the luggage to the back of the car.

Like a hawk, Mingyu notices. He and Seulgi don’t let Wonwoo hear the end of it, of course.

/

With Seulgi now occupying the spare room, Wonwoo’s books find a new home in various places in the apartment. A stack of Sherlock Holmes sits beside Seulgi’s pot of Selloum plant. Shakespeare, Banana Yoshimoto, and Italo Calvino create a neat trail from the kitchen to the bathroom. The only Non-Fictions Wonwoo can bare to read double as a coffee stand in the living room. Some of his favorite books settle in his bedroom. His borrowed library books sit on his study desk.

Or at least that’s where they’re supposed to be. Somehow, one of the library books have gone missing. One that’s due today, at that. For some reason, he can’t find it anywhere in the house.

“Hey,” Wonwoo says, stopping in front of the open bathroom door. Seulgi sends him a questioning look across her shoulder, toothbrush still in her mouth. “Have you seen Robinson Crusoe anywhere?”

Seulgi spits into the sink. “Have I seen who?”

Wonwoo sighs. “You know, the book?” Seulgi turns to him, wipes her mouth. “Hardbound. Blue cover. A weird-looking man on the front?” His shoulders sag when Seulgi just furrows her eyebrows. “Nevermind. Just—tell me if you see the title _Robinson Crusoe_ somewhere here. I think I lost it.”

Wonwoo pads to the living room again. Hoping that he might’ve missed a spot somewhere in the five square foot room. “Have you checked my room?” Seulgi calls out.

“Yeah,” Wonwoo says, raising his voice by just a volume.

“How about the bathroom?”

“Why would it be in the bathroom?” Wonwoo grumbles but his feet take him there anyway. He doesn’t find it behind the shower curtains or inside the medicine cabinet, obviously. Defeated, he reroutes to the kitchen. “It’s not anywhere,” Wonwoo sighs at Seulgi idling by the bread toaster, waiting for the bread to rise.

“Was it a borrowed book?” Seulgi asks.

“Yeah,” Wonwoo says sadly. “It’s due today. There’s a 12000 won fine for lost books and it’s a taint to my records too.”

“Aw,” Seulgi says, lips pouted in sympathy. “You sure you didn’t just leave it somewhere? Outside, maybe?”

“It’s not in the balcony or in the hallway outside.”

“No, I mean like outside? In a café or a park or whatever?”

A sleepy train ride and a feline gaze and towering trinkets rush to Wonwoo’s mind in a jet stream. He remembers the book in his hands—its weight transferred to the wooden table Wonwoo placed it upon. Seulgi’s bread comes up, the toaster letting out a clear _ding!_ like an animated light bulb powering at an idea. “Oh,” Wonwoo says, his own imaginary bulb lighting up at the resurfaced memory. “ _Oh!_ ”

/

Wonwoo is lost.

His thoughts are a tangle of unfamiliar street signs and his feet are tired from crunching gravel. He should’ve just sucked it up and sacrificed 12000 won from his allowance instead of retracing his steps back to the dusty store the mysterious cat led him to. Maybe he shouldn’t even have followed the cat the other day in the first place despite how much of the whole idea feels like the beginning of a story. The whole premise of it was unassuming—the cat’s eyes arresting and the way the train car shook hypnotising.

Almost at the brink of giving up, Wonwoo suddenly hears the cat before he sees it again: a soft purring among marbled gates and then it jumps out of a bush five steps away from him. The cat looks at him dead in the eye before stalking off, paws on the ground and nose in the air.

As if bewitched, Wonwoo follows.

/

It’s still there when Wonwoo, for the second time, pushes past the half-open wooden door.

Wonwoo grabs the book—a polaroid he forgot he’d doubled as a bookmark sandwiched between the pages. He heaves a quiet sigh of relief, realizing he would’ve lost more than a book and 12000 won if he didn’t come back.

He should leave—he knows—but he can’t help but let his eyes linger around the room. A white chandelier arabesques overhead, almost liquid in the transparency of its gems. There’s also a grandfather clock on the right. Majestic and tall and knowing. Sprinkled around the room are trinkets of all kinds: a wooden music box, a golden pig statue with a quilt blanketed around its body, an ophidian candle holder. In the corner of the room’s a metal staircase leading to darkness. Somehow, Wonwoo feels like he’s being let in on a secret.

“Ah,” comes a voice from behind Wonwoo so sudden he almost jumps. “So you’re the guy on the polaroid.”

“What—” Wonwoo blinks—at the guy first, then at his book. “Who—wait, you looked inside my book?”

“I had to find out whose book it was,” the guy says with an air of nonchalance. “Is that your girlfriend on the picture? She’s pretty.”

Wonwoo frowns. “That’s my sister.”

“Oh.” Oddly, the look on his face reminds Wonwoo of cumulus clouds ushered in after a cold day. “Well anyway, nice poem. You know, the one on the polaroid. I don’t know if it’s actually a poem? It didn’t really rhyme or whatever.”

“Poems don’t have to rhyme.” Wonwoo’s frown deepens, feeling exposed, holding the book closer to his chest. “And you’re not supposed to go through things that aren’t yours.”

“Yeah well,” the guy says in an easy voice. “You’re not supposed to trespass in private properties either yet here you are.”

“Like you’re not doing the same?”

“I live here.” The guy sits in one of the wooden chairs, props his feet up on a table with an infuriating grin directed to Wonwoo. “What about you?”

Wonwoo narrows his eyes at him. “Do you really?”

“Yeah,” he snorts. “In a room downstairs. This is family business, you know. I helped make the table you’re leaning on.”

Wonwoo steps away from the table when the guy doesn’t seem like he’s kidding. The apology spills out of him hastily. “Sorry. I didn’t realize. I just thought… the door was open though…?”

“Dad sometimes leaves it open for Hoshi. This is a safe neighbourhood, anyway,” the guy says, then takes his feet off the table to make grabby fingers at the same mysterious cat sitting in the corner of the room. “C’mere, Hoshi.”

The cat—Hoshi, apparently—sashays over, plants itself on top of the guy’s legs. He watches fingers curl into silky fur. Overcome by the overwhelming urge to pet Hoshi, he does. The guy’s lips quirk up, eyes looking up at Wonwoo’s. The brief eye contact snaps electric to his mind and he’s reminded of the weight of the book in his hands.

“I have to go,” he says, hands instantly retreating. “I have to return the book.”

“Oh, right. I saw on the library card that it was due today,” the guy says, looking at the book Wonwoo’s hands has fastened against his chest. Then, he grins. “Are you gonna tell them you almost lost the book?”

“You’re so—” Wonwoo’s nose crinkles. “Whatever. I’m going. Goodbye.”

When he turns on his heels, he hears Hoshi meow after him. He thinks back to the guy’s slanted eyes and equally slanted smile. Familiar, somehow, although he doesn’t look like someone you’d forget easy. “Twin feline eyes…” he hears the guy recite behind him, and when Wonwoo looks he’s paused on top of the staircase with a dramatic pose. He is confused for a moment before he realizes the words are from his poem on the polaroid. He manages a garbled _you jerk_ — but the guy’s already climbing down, laughter evaporating above him. Wonwoo erases all thoughts of familiarity. He fumes quietly and leaves.

/

“Didn’t realize no one else borrowed this book other than me,” Wonwoo says, hands grazing the library card as he surrenders the book. Someone faintly raps from the teal headphones hugging Hansol’s neck. His movements tell Wonwoo it’s been a slow day at the library.

Dry as ever, Hansol merely lets out an amused puff of air. “I’m sure someone will soon.”

/

Seungcheol hands him a box of banners. “I owe you my life.”

“Can I get a side of donuts with that one?” Wonwoo says, securing his hands under the box. It’s a two-minute walk from the student council’s office to the auditorium. Seungcheol spills gratitude all over Wonwoo’s feet as he puts the box on the elevated podium.

“Seriously, Wonwoo, thank you,” Seungcheol says as they walk back to the office for a third round of carrying props and boxes. “None of the other officers could make it due to prior arrangements. I really can’t blame them since it’s summer and the notice was sudden but I really would’ve died if I did all this alone.”

“You’re really going all out, President Choi,” Wonwoo comments, holding up a heavier box this time conspicuously labelled _FRAGILE_ in neat handwriting. “Don’t remember any of the previous student councils putting this much effort on freshmen opening.”

Abashed, Seungcheol laughs. “Kahi-noona made me promise to do a better job than her.”

“This year’s freshmen are lucky to have you as President,” Wonwoo says, snorting when he sees Seungcheol tuck his smile into the flap of the box he’s holding. Just then, Mingyu and Minghao enter the room. Sleeves folded up to their elbows, hurricane hair dripping in sweat. “Sorry we’re late,” Minghao pants. “A group of middle schoolers asked to play soccer with us and this guy here—” He puts a hand on Mingyu’s shoulder as the taller doubles over, hacking. “Obviously can’t resist a match.”

Wonwoo grins at Seungcheol’s confused expression. “Thought you’d need more help.”

“I think I’m going to cry,” Seungcheol says, looking like he’s genuinely about to.

Mingyu volunteers to help carve Styrofoam letters. Minghao offers to paint it. He looks mildly affronted when Seungcheol requests to put glitter on it but chooses not to oppose anyway. When they return from transporting boxes of props to the auditorium, Wonwoo helps Seungcheol with the emceeing script. What’s last of the summer wind blows through the open windows as they work.

“I really owe the three of you,” Seungcheol says. “Seriously. Name it. What do you guys want?”

“Winning this year’s university meet,” Mingyu says.

“World peace,” Minghao adds.

“A slot for the Japanese Literature class,” Wonwoo quips.

Seungcheol gingerly puts down a freshly painted Styrofoam letter, its glitters winking in the sunlight. “I didn’t mean impossible things,” he says, laughing. “We can get food delivered though, how ‘bout that?”

/

Wonwoo stares at the blinking cursor. Beyond tired, eyelids heavy behind his thin-rimmed glasses. Three stanzas but nothing substantial. He can’t remember the last time he’d been satisfied with his writing. Probably two, three years ago, if he had to guess.

“Wonwoo, hey, dinner’s ready,” Seulgi says, unruly head of brown hair peeking from the door. “C’mon, I prepared something for you.”

It takes Wonwoo a minute to drag himself to the kitchen. On the table’s the closest thing to a feast: mountains of rice, ddak galbi, something similar to glass noodles. There’s meat too in a pretty golden brown. “Wow,” Wonwoo says, unable to stop the chuckle bubbling off his lips. “What’s the occasion?”

“Figured you’d want a pick me up before going back to university tomorrow,” Seulgi says kindly. “Also, we’ve been living together for a week now so cheers to that!”

Wonwoo smiles. “Cheers for good luck on your masters too.”

Seulgi ruffles his hair as she sits down. For the first time in three years, the apartment finally feels like home. “Cheers to us, Wonwoo-yah.”

/

Twenty-six panels of dusty glass. Twenty-nine rolling chairs, three Monoblock ones. Four overhead lights—all turned off. In the courtyard, there are two trees with leaves barely holding on. Wonwoo counts five falling in a span of an hour. Behind him, someone’s beat-tapping their pen on the table. He counts five beats before giving up. Goes back to counting glass panels again. Twenty-six, still. The sun shines into his eyes.

Class ends ten minutes ahead of schedule. Boring class, easy module. There’s an option of doing the final project alone too. Maybe it’s not so much of a misfortune after all. Automatically, his feet lead him to the direction of the library a two-minute walk away from the campus.

“Hey, hyung,” Hansol greets him from the circulation desk when he enters. Wonwoo hands him his bag and he is given a number in return. “How many are you borrowing this time?”

Wonwoo hums. “We’ll see.”

He idles in the Literary Fiction for quite some time. It’s a busy day today, he notices. A crowd of new faces. Freshmen students from his university, probably, with nowhere better to go considering the extensive (not at all) and impressive (nope) repertoire of hang out spots his university offers: a crowded student lounge, a courtyard situated on the edges of the sun, and a library Wonwoo exactly isn’t the biggest fan of. Really, all it has are fifty-year-old textbooks and Young Adult fictions with questionable movie adaptations. Comically pitiful compared to the public library.

He initially eyes two interesting books but somehow he reaches the circulation desk with four. One of the hardbound ones look like it’s been there for a millennium. Spine dusty, letters faded. Heavier than two books combined. “Woah,” Hansol says when he sees him. “Are you planning to read all that in two weeks?”

“Don’t be silly,” Wonwoo grins. “If you try hard enough, you can read all four in a week.”

Hansol shakes his head as he registers the books. “I better not see you here in seven days.”

“Wow, are you kicking me out?” Wonwoo says, putting a hand on his chest in mock hurt. “And I thought I was your favorite.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, hyung,” Hansol snorts in lieu of laughter. He lets Wonwoo retrieve his bag too. “If there wasn’t a limit I bet you’d have six books in your arms right now.”

Wonwoo laughs, hugging them to his chest as he walks out. “See you next week!”

“I’m kicking you out, hyung!”

Outside, sunbeams spiral off the sky like spilled paint. Heat hugs his skin as he carefully treks down the staircase but it’s less balmy as the city prepares to welcome a new season. He digs his chin on top of the books. At the bottom of the staircase, he sees a familiar face. It’s the guy from the antique shop, he realizes. He’s prepared to play blind and ignore the guy and escape altogether when he notices another familiar creature. Perched behind the seat of his bike is Hoshi. The guy sees him and they make eye contact.

The words stumble out of his mouth before he can think about it. “You take your cat to the library?”

“Hoshi’s not my cat.” The guy laughs, visibly surprised. “He doesn’t like staying in one place or one owner. He visits the shop every now and then but he mostly goes around my neighbourhood.” He pets Hoshi. “The neighbourhood kids call him Moon.”

“Oh,” Wonwoo says, eloquent.

He looks at the books in Wonwoo’s hands. “You a regular at the library?”

“Uh, yeah,” Wonwoo says. “You can say that.” He looks at the guy whose eyes dart immediately from Wonwoo’s face to the books. “You, uh, you guys coming in?”

“Pets aren’t allowed in the library,” he snorts. “We were just passing by. I stopped to, uh, fix my bike tires.”

Never been the type to carry conversations, Wonwoo nods. He’s not mad at him anymore. Not that he was, in the first place. Irritated, maybe. A bit thrown off at their odd first meeting. But he’s not mad and it doesn’t matter anymore and Wonwoo’s never been smooth at these types of moments. He’s about to blurt out an excuse to escape the awkward, stifling situation when the guy asks, “Need help carrying your books?"

/

As if to make up for their first meeting, the guy insists. Wonwoo only agrees because he says it’s not out of his way. Wonwoo lives on fifth street, he has to pick up spare parts for the shop’s grandfather clock on the seventh.

Hoshi’s hopped off the bike and disappeared to somewhere by the time they get to the main roads. All four books sit nestled in the guy’s bicycle basket. Wonwoo finds out—not in order—that his name is Kwon Soonyoung, he goes to the same university as Wonwoo, and he’s the co-captain of the university’s dance team. There’s hesitation on both sides, mostly on Wonwoo’s, but Soonyoung lets their common grounds bridge the gap. When Wonwoo finds out Soonyoung’s taking the Japanese Literature class, he takes a hesitant metaphorical step forward.

“I wanted to take that class,” Wonwoo admits.

Soonyoung cycles at a glacial pace beside him. “Really? What happened?”

“I slept in during the registration,” Wonwoo says sadly. “When I logged into the portal, it said that there were no slots available for the class. I was forced to take Oceanography.”

“Damn, that sucks,” Soonyoung sympathizes.

“Kinda but it probably isn’t so bad,” Wonwoo says. “It was my last class earlier and it was boring but seemed easy.” He looks at Soonyoung. “Why’d you choose Japanese Lit?”

“Huh?” Soonyoung blinks. “Uh, dunno.” He shrugs, dangling his foot inches away from the ground. He puts it back on the pedal when a sedan teetering near the edge of the road line honks. “Seemed cool, I guess. I’m quite interested in Japanese culture too.”

“Do you read?”

“What?”

“Books, I mean?” Wonwoo supplies. “You have to do an awful lot of reading for this class, you know.”

“Oh, uh.” Soonyoung looks away. “Not really. I’ve read a few books but I don’t really read a lot. Or regularly like you do, probably.”

“Do I really look like a bookworm?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Wonwoo,” Soonyoung says, looking at the stack of Wonwoo’s borrowed books settled in his bike’s basket. “Do you?” The jab’s a glimpse of what Wonwoo had seen in their first meeting—back in that antique shop—but he smiles good-naturedly and it’s clear that he’s kidding. Wonwoo finds that he could maybe live with it.

For the remaining three blocks, Soonyoung gets more comfortable and rambles on about an anime show he claims got him interested in Japanese culture. Wonwoo also talks a little about books he thinks Soonyoung’s Japanese Literature class might tackle, offhandedly mentioning owning a few of them. It’s nearing sunset when they arrive in front of Wonwoo’s apartment building. He spies moths collecting under the already open porch light.

“Thanks for the help,” Wonwoo says, grabbing his books from the basket. “You really didn’t have to.”

“Nah, it’s alright.” Soonyoung shrugs, hands toying with the gear. “Besides, it’s an apology for being a jerk when we first met. I wanted to approach you like, in a friendly casual way but I think I must’ve crossed the line a little bit.” He laughs, scratching his head. “My dad says it’s been a thing since I was a kid? I’m not really good with strangers because my mouth tends to run so I’ve learned to just shut up. You, um, you write good.”

Wonwoo looks away. “Not really but thank you. Bike safely to your destination, I guess.”

“Yeah,” Soonyoung says, looking at him like he wants to say something more but he doesn’t. His sneakers kick the pedal, tires skidding against gravel. Forward and further away. “See you around, Jeon Wonwoo.”

/

Outside, buildings speed past until they’re nothing but a blur. Wonwoo plants his feet on metal, lets the train car sway him. From the phone Wonwoo presses to his ear, Seulgi’s listing down groceries she wants Wonwoo to pick up.

“Oh and maybe get ingredients for miyeok-guk too,” Seulgi says. “It’s mom’s birthday next week, right?”

Wonwoo hums absentmindedly. “Yeah. She’s visiting around Thursday, I think.”

“Oh good. More time to prepare,” Seulgi says as Wonwoo shifts his phone to his other ear. “Get some laundry detergent too. An expensive one. Help me change the sheets this weekend. Have you already bought a gift for Mom?”

“Not yet,” Wonwoo says. Overhead, the intercom buzzes, monotonous voice announcing their arrival at Wonwoo’s stop. The train doors open with a hiss and Wonwoo steps out just as Seulgi ends the call after hearing the kettle sing. Towering above people, he sees crowns of mostly black hair and spots swift movement from his peripheral. The same cat—Hoshi—scales one of the low walls before jumping off to a staircase. Wonwoo looks until he realizes he’s staring at nothing but ankles and tucks an idea to the back of his head for later.

/

Wonwoo comes to the shop two days later. It’s open this time—heavy door pushed all the way as a wooden sign confirms they’re open in cursive. Hoshi’s lounging on top of a polished horse statue a few steps away from the entrance and Wonwoo comes to pet him. He grins in satisfaction when the cat nuzzles into his hand.

“Hoshi lets you pet him too?” someone comes up to him. When Wonwoo turns to look, the man’s got his hair in a low ponytail and the way he’s smiling up at Wonwoo looks oddly familiar.

Wonwoo smiles back politely. “Does he not usually let people pet him?”

“He’s a picky cat,” the man laughs. “He’s very chummy with my son, though.”

“Your son?”

“I have a boy around your age,” he says. “He’s mostly busy but he always makes time when his old man asks for help.” His hands trace a vintage carousel that comes up to his waist. “He helped repair this one and many other things in the shop.”

“It’s very beautiful,” Wonwoo says. “If you don’t mind me asking, is your son perhaps Kwon Soonyoung?”

His eyes light up. “Why, yes! Are you friends with him?”

“We go to the same university.”

“Oh,” he says, “that’s nice! Soonyoung has practice with that dance team of his though so if you’re looking for him right now then I’m afraid he’s not around.”

“That’s alright,” Wonwoo chuckles, turning to look back at the shelf of trinkets behind him. Hoshi has retreated to a cobwebbed corner, licking on his paws. “I came here to look for a birthday gift.”

“What is it exactly you’re looking for?”

“Nothing specific,” Wonwoo says. “It’s for my mom's birthday. She likes pretty things in general so she’s very easy to please but I really wanna give her something that holds meaning."

“Well you're in the right place,” he grins, and the crinkle in his eyes reminds him of Soonyoung. “I have all the time in the world and the entire world in this shop. Do you want me to show you around?”

And he does with warmth that leaves Wonwoo at ease. Welcoming, accommodating. He maneuvers Wonwoo around the shop expertly and walking around almost feels like time-travelling. There’s the 1800s in the dressed-up dolls, too polished eyes staring at Wonwoo in artificial mirth. The sixties come in the form of a vinyl record crooning a love song to the long dead. He catches a glimpse of a much younger Earth in the rocks and meteorites and tablets sitting at the back of the room. Then, Wonwoo sees it: a beautiful silver bracelet with a single tiny anchor amongst the chains.

“You’ve got a keen eye,” Soonyoung’s dad comments, seeing Wonwoo’s gaze on the bracelet. He fumbles with a set of his keys hanging by his belt loops and unlocks the glass container. Takes the bracelet from where it’s lying and holds up into the light where Wonwoo can see it better. Then, he hands it to Wonwoo. “It reached the shop through an anonymous donation ‘bout three years ago with nothing but a velvet box and a note. Do you wanna know what it said?”

Wonwoo nods, apprehensive.

He unlocks another compartment below the glass shelf and takes out a navy blue box. Encouraged to open it, Wonwoo does. He finds a weathered paper inside, folded in four parts. Handwriting neat and crisp. He reads: _One afternoon, I received a letter from the sky. For three years I struggled to let go but a few words from my beloved and I am an ocean placid after half a decade of storms. The letter said, and I will be repeating this for the rest of my life:_

And on the bottom part of the letter there are tear stains where it was written: _love, and let yourself be loved._

“It sat hidden for a long time,” Soonyoung’s dad says. “It just felt wrong to sell it. Still does. It feels like the memory of that person and their beloved, whoever that is, is being cheated. It took me two years to finally get the courage to put on that glass shelf and display it. I’m afraid it’s still not for sale, though.”

“It’s very meaningful so I understand why you’d hesitate,” Wonwoo says, still staring at the letter. Wondering what the person must’ve been like and what kind of bond they shared with their lover. He looks at the bracelet, then. “It’s beautiful.”

“It is,” he says, accepting the bracelet with ginger hands when Wonwoo gives it back. He locks it back into the glass shelf, flaxen light shining on the jewelry. “Do you wanna look around more?”

Wonwoo finds a gift, eventually. A lapis lazuli pendant he imagines bathed in moonlight and thinks that there isn’t a gift better than this that’s as beautiful and timeless as his mother. His wallet gapes in surprise when it finds out it’s 15000 won short of the price of the pendant. He goes out to the muted afternoon with a promise of coming back very, very soon for it and the thought of the anchor bracelet still in his mind.

/

Wonwoo doesn’t expect to see Soonyoung after class at all. He’s leaning on a wall adjacent the classroom Wonwoo’s just exited from, toying with the straps of his backpack. Waiting for Wonwoo, apparently. Wonwoo’s thrown off by the smile that comes automatic when Soonyoung sees him.

“Hi,” Soonyoung says, spine snapping straight.

“Hi,” Wonwoo says back, blinking. “What are you doing here?”

Soonyoung smiles uncertainly, following Wonwoo as they walk through the hallway. “I had no idea where to find you and I really didn’t want to seem creepy by waiting for you in front of your house,” he’s saying, “but I remembered you mentioning Oceanography as your last class on Mondays so here I am.”

“What’s up?”

“Listen, I think I really need your help,” he says, and Wonwoo spares him a glance only to see him pull out a long list of something on a crumpled piece of paper. “Do you perhaps have some of these books and if you do, will you let me borrow them?”

/

“Sorry it’s kind of a mess,” Wonwoo says, putting a rogue book back to where it belongs. “My sister just moved in and the room she’s using now used to be a mini library or whatever. Now all these books have nowhere to go.”

Soonyoung’s idling by the door. His shoes sit neatly beside Wonwoo’s against the wall, feet fidgeting beneath his printed socks. He looks apprehensive, eyes boomeranging at every book on sight, and what’s visible now is not even half of Wonwoo’s collection yet.

Wonwoo chuckles unsurely. “It’s overwhelming, huh?”

“No. It’s alright. Just…” Soonyoung licks his lips, looking around. “You read all this?”

“Well. Not all,” Wonwoo admits. “There are still some books I haven’t read yet. I do own everything, though.”

“Wow,” Soonyoung says, finally stepping in. “That’s—wow, you really love reading, huh?”

Wonwoo shrugs, feeling strangely exposed. Not knowing where to put his hands so he wrings them in front of him. “I guess.”

He lets Soonyoung sit on the couch as he starts to search for the books on Soonyoung’s list—all of them to be covered in the Japanese Literature class Wonwoo so covets. A good number of his books are by Japanese authors he’d acquired through generous gifts or he’d somehow luckily thrifted in a sleepy bookstore. From the couch, Soonyoung asks, “Do you need help?”

Wonwoo looks up from where he’s crouching next to a plant. “Yeah, sorry, everything’s really a mess. You can go through the books. Some of them are in the hallway and in the kitchen.”

Soonyoung looks at him incredulously. “In the _kitchen_?”

They search through stacks and stacks of books throughout the house. Two Murakami staples sit at the bottom of a stack near a faulty lamp. The Waiting Years is tucked between two heavy hardbounds. Soonyoung even finds The Tale of Genji beside the cookbooks and salt shaker on the kitchen counter.

“Damn, Wonwoo,” he says, unable to stop himself from laughing. “I didn’t know you were this intense.”

Wonwoo wills himself not to be embarrassed. “I’m not intense.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean it in like, a bad way,” Soonyoung hastily patches, not oblivious to Wonwoo’s discomfort. “It’s cute, actually. There’s nothing wrong with being a bookworm. If anything, it makes you a more interesting person because you’ve read about all these worlds in these books and it broadens your perspective.”

“I’ve never heard it put it that way before,” Wonwoo says, neck feeling hot. He looks away and spies Kokoro near the tall stack at the balcony door. “Thanks, I guess.”

Soonyoung clears his throat. “So, um, which one’s your favorite?”

“What?”

“You have a favorite book or something?” Soonyoung asks, stacking all the found books on the coffee desk and checking his crumpled list with a blue pen he procures from his bag.

“Oh well. That’s a hard question because there are a lot of good books,” Wonwoo says, putting Kokoro on top of the stack. “But if I had to choose it would probably be Kitchen by Banana Yoshimoto.”

Soonyoung looks up. “Oh? I’ve never heard of that.”

“It’s really good,” Wonwoo says. “I don’t have a copy, though. It was probably the first book I read the first time I moved to this city and visited the public library.”

“Huh,” is all Soonyoung says, looking thoughtful.

“Well anyway, I think that’s about all I have.” Wonwoo looks at the stack of books he’s about to let Soonyoung borrow. The most he’s probably allowed someone to considering his careful nature. Four books out of the eight from Soonyoung’s list. “I’m sure the rest are in the library. And if you can’t find them then there are lots of websites on the net you can download PDFs for free.”

Soonyoung sighs, crumpling the paper back into his jeans. “Thank you, really. You’re a life saver.”

“You better take that class seriously,” Wonwoo says, a joking lilt to his voice for the first time that has Soonyoung’s lips perking up. “I’m gonna find a way to steal your class slot if you don’t.”

Soonyoung laughs. “As long as you go to the class under my name, I’d be happy to let you."

/

Later, as Wonwoo’s restacking the books near the balcony door after Soonyoung leaves, he hears a shout from below. Confused, he walks up to the railing, hands on cool metal, to see Soonyoung waving on his bike. He’s yelling something to the air, eyes squinted, sun in his eyes.

Wonwoo frowns, pushing himself outwards more. “What?!”

“I said,” Soonyoung shouts, inhaling to take in more breath for a louder yell, “Come by the shop tomorrow if you’re not busy! I’ll be there at around 5!”

“Why?!”

“Just go!” Soonyoung says, biking forwards, borrowed books on the basket and half on his bag. He yells out a _bye!_ and cycles away fast when the old lady from 302—just beside Wonwoo’s—walks out to her own balcony to figure out what the commotion’s all about. She glares at Soonyoung’s retreating figure and then looks at Wonwoo standing awkwardly at his own balcony. He gives her his best smile his aunts pinch his cheek for. It works, of course. She sighs and retreats back to her apartment, leaving Wonwoo looking at her pot of wilted geraniums.

/

Wonwoo comes a little later than expected. Soonyoung’s got his cheek pressed up on a table when he arrives, poking Hoshi’s sleeping figure and surprisingly not getting scratched for it. “Wow,” he says, head unmoving. “Thought you’d never come.”

Wonwoo sighs, coming closer. “Sorry. My sister asked me to print a few files last minute and deliver it over to her university.”

“I’m kidding. It’s fine,” he says, finally sitting up. He grabs a box behind Hoshi and hands it to Wonwoo. “Here.”

Wonwoo blinks. “What?”

“Just open it,” he says, insistently pressing the box into Wonwoo’s hesitant palms.

When Wonwoo opens it, visions of moonlight greet him. On his hand sits the lapis lazuli pendant he’s been rationing his allowance for these past four days. Soonyoung only grins when Wonwoo looks at him, questioning. “I know it was you, the friend my dad’s been mentioning,” he says. “He completely forgot to ask for your name but I could tell you were the, and I quote ‘ _handsome fellow even Hoshi likes_.’”

Wonwoo flushes. “And what am I supposed to do with this pendant? I don’t have the money now, you know.”

“That’s alright,” Soonyoung laughs. “You can have it. Y’know, as thanks to letting me borrow all your books.”

“What?” he frowns, clearly opposed to the idea. “No, Soonyoung, I don’t want that—”

“Thought you mentioned wanting it as a gift for your mom’s birthday?”

“Yeah,” Wonwoo says, “A gift I want to _pay_ for. Besides, letting someone borrow a few books and giving someone a pendant are two different things.”

Soonyoung shakes his head, refusing to listen. “Just take it, Wonwoo.”

“No. I’m coming back tomorrow with money to pay for it,” Wonwoo says resolutely, putting the pendant back to the box to hand it to an equally stubborn Soonyoung who leans away. “ _Soonyoung_.”

“Alright. Fine, it’s not for free,” Soonyoung says, face defeated.

“There we go,” Wonwoo says, putting the box on the table. “I’ll come back tomorrow for it, I swear—”

“But I’m still letting you have it.” Soonyoung pushes the box back to him, softly hitting his knuckles. “The payment comes later. And it’s _not_ in the form of money.”

Wonwoo sighs. “What do you want, Soonyoung?”

“You can help me with my Japanese Literature class,” Soonyoung says, a bit nervously. “I tried reading one of the books and it wasn’t a hard read, really. But earlier the professor gave us a set of questions to mull on for our first paper next week and I just… realized that there’s kind of more to what I’m reading?”

Wonwoo raises eyebrow.

“You know what I mean!” Soonyoung huffs. “He wants us to read between the lines and whatever and I’m not, um, not really good at that. Yet. And I’m not best at gathering my thoughts and putting them on paper so maybe… you could help me with that? I’ll write the paper myself, of course, but it’d be convenient if you looked over it? Perhaps?” He wilts when he sees Wonwoo’s blank expression. “Or not?”

“And this is gonna be a one time thing?”

“I mean, yeah.” Soonyoung shrugs. “I don’t really wanna bother you every time we have a paper.”

Wonwoo sighs. “Give me your phone.”

“What?”

“Your phone?” Wonwoo repeats. “Cellphone?”

“Oh!” Soonyoung says, fishing it from his jacket pocket. Before handing it to Wonwoo, he squints. “Wait, why?”

Wonwoo shakes his head mutely. Taking the phone, he dials in something before handing it back to Soonyoung. “That’s my number,” he says. “Call me whenever you need help with a paper or with uh, anything, really. It’s the least I can do for the pendant.”

Soonyoung blinks, blinks at the number on his phone for a long time like he can’t believe it. “Wait,” he realizes. “Wait! Just to be clear, I’m not forcing you and giving you the pendant so you owe me and you’re in my beck and call for the rest of the semester.”

“You’re not forcing me, Soonyoung,” Wonwoo says, and finds that—for whatever reason—he’s sincere. “I don’t mind, really. Just as long as this doesn’t end up with you freeloading or something.”

Soonyoung makes a face. “I won’t. Not at all. Never.”

“Good, then we have a deal,” Wonwoo says. Soonyoung pushes the box closer to him, into his palms. “Can’t I just pay you and still help you with your class?”

Soonyoung laughs. “That’s not how deals work, Wonwoo.”

/

Seulgi loses the 5 in the 56 for the birthday cake. When Mingyu sees the cake, he bursts into muted laughter before removing his hands from Wonwoo’s mother’s eyes. “Happy birthday!” they chorus in different tones as the curtain drops. Seulgi squeaks the greeting, Wonwoo yells it in happiness, Mingyu says his in between laughter.

“I dropped it in the 2nd floor,” Seulgi explains to her mother sheepishly. “Figured you’d wanna be 6 years old instead of being 56 and having an infected candle on your birthday cake.”

“Happy birthday, mom,” Mingyu says when he’s over it, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

She pats his cheek affectionately. “You’re getting more and more handsome everyday, Mingyu-yah.”

“Hey, I’m your son. Not him,” Wonwoo complains from the side as they move to the decorated kitchen and situate the cake on the table. Mingyu and Seulgi laugh. “Aw, I missed you too, Wonwoo,” his mother smiles, eyes crinkling. “How’s living with your sister?”

Before Wonwoo gets to answer, Seulgi gets into a long tirade. Something about Wonwoo’s sleeping habits on the weekend and his books strewn all over the apartment. “I almost tripped on a stack on the way to bathroom last night,” she complains.

Wonwoo frowns. “Not my fault you prefer stumble around in the dark like a drunk person instead of turning the lights on.”

“It’s called _saving_ electricity,” she harrumphs.

A few more people are invited as the evening crescendos. Aunt Na who lives in a neighbourhood four stations away, two family friends who happened to be visiting Seoul, and even Seulgi’s elusive boyfriend who somehow has both his mother and his sister charmed but Wonwoo’s not much of a fan of and by proxy, Mingyu too. “Sorry I got here late,” he says with a Colgate smile that has Mingyu and Wonwoo sharing a look. “I just got off from work.”

Wonwoo only gets to hand his gift later in the night. The apartment thrums in phantom energy as the last of the crowd goes. Seulgi sees them off at the door. “It’s a lapis lazuli,” Wonwoo explains to his mother as he gives the pendant, fidgeting. “It’s known as the stone of wisdom and I thought it’d suit you.”

“Oh Wonwoo, honey,” she says after a quiet moment. “Thank you so much.”

She collects him into her arms. When Wonwoo hears her say something along the lines of “ _You and your sister are the best gifts I could ask for_ ”, he buries his head into his mother’s shoulder and keeps it there.

/

Wonwoo and Soonyoung agree to meet in their university’s courtyard on Saturday noon. He exchanges rushed greetings with Seungcheol when he passes him by on the way to the gates. “Oh by the way, Wonwoo-yah!” Seungcheol calls back as an afterthought, carrying stacks of paper to photocopy. “I came from a meeting and Nayeon told me the school paper’s accepting applications the whole semester! Just thought you’d wanted to know!”

Wonwoo watches Seungcheol rush into the streets.

Soonyoung’s not yet there when he arrives at the courtyard. He sits on one of the benches with a two-year old dread in his chest resurfacing. Beyond a chained fence sprawls a grass field where the soccer team are training and he briefly registers the fact that Mingyu would probably appreciate if he popped in to say hi for a bit but his mind sifts past the corporeal. His thoughts round to the school paper and memories of rejection and the notion of perhaps submitting an application again. Maybe… this time around…

No, no—absolutely not. Entertaining the idea itself feels like unstitching a smarting wound. He discards the thought to the farthest nook of his head.

“God,” comes Soonyoung’s panting voice in front of Wonwoo as he curls, hands on both his knees. “Can you like, give me a second? I feel like I’m going to die.”

Wonwoo frowns at him. “What happened to you?”

“Ran all the way here,” Soonyoung wheezes, sitting next to him on the bench. “Sorry. Had training and an org meeting with the dance team’s officers. We’re holding auditions next week.”

“Ah.”

“You okay?” Soonyoung asks, unscrewing the lid to his water jug and drinking.

“Yeah?” Wonwoo says. “I’m fine. Why’d you ask?”

“Dunno, you seem a bit off.” Soonyoung shrugs, putting the jug back in his bag. Before Wonwoo can chalk it off, Soonyoung says, “It’s okay if you don’t wanna do this, you know. I really don’t wanna force you."

“It’s fine, Soonyoung, we’ve established this,” Wonwoo says, and Soonyoung just frowns at his tone. “It’s fine, really. I just have some things in my mind today but I’ll gladly help you.”

“We can cancel today, if you want. You should rest or something if you’re preoccupied or if you’re not okay.”

“I’m okay, really,” Wonwoo says with a softened voice. “Trust me. Besides, your paper’s due next week.”

Soonyoung regards him for a long moment. “If you say so but we can stop this anytime, okay?”

“Okay,” Wonwoo says, standing up. “Now let’s go.”

“Go? Go where?”

“To the library.”

“Oh, alright.” Soonyoung gathers his things and starts walking to the direction of the school building.

Wonwoo stops him. “Wait, where are you going?”

“Uh.” Soonyoung blinks. “To the library?”

“I meant the public library, not the college library.”

Soonyoung looks alarmed. “What’s wrong with the college library?

“Everyone knows the public library’s much better,” Wonwoo replies. “Come on.”

“No, no, wait!” Soonyoung says when Wonwoo starts tugging on his sleeve, leading him away. “Wait, no, we can’t go to the public library.”

“Why not?”

“Because!” he says, gesticulating wildly in a way that doesn’t even make any sense. “You know, I’m tired! And I just came from training! Are we really going to walk two kilometres just to go to a place our own university has anyway?” He gestures to the sun dramatically where a fourth of it is peeking behind the clouds. “And in the _heat_?”

Wonwoo tries not to roll his eyes. “It’s almost autumn.”

“Wonwoo,” Soonyoung says, tacking in a whine at the last syllable.

“Jeez, alright.” He makes a face, giving up and letting Soonyoung lead the way. “Let’s go to the small and dusty and dull college library.” As they walk through the sunlit hallway, he suddenly remembers and says, “Thank you, by the way.”

Soonyoung turns his head. “What for?”

“For the pendant,” Wonwoo says. “My mom liked it a lot and I could tell it meant a lot to her so thank you.”

“Oh, no need to thank me. You were the one who picked it for her, anyway,” Soonyoung says, looking away, and Wonwoo spies a smile on his mouth. “I’m glad she liked it.”

/

Soonyoung and Seulgi meet the next time. Her hair’s wrapped in a pink towel like a linen crown when they step into the apartment a little past three in the afternoon. Instantly, Soonyoung’s head dips. “Hello,” he says. “Sorry for intruding.”

Wonwoo introduces them to each other.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Seulgi says, smiling when Soonyoung says the same. “Make yourself at home although it’s… a bit crowded.” She looks at Wonwoo meaningfully. “There are snacks in the kitchen if you want some.”

“Thank you,” Soonyoung says.

“We’ll be studying in my room,” Wonwoo says, directing Soonyoung past the paperback panorama. Seulgi nods and retreats to her own. When the door shuts, Soonyoung tells him, “You two look similar up close.”

Wonwoo snorts. “I wonder why.”

They situate in Wonwoo’s desk. Soonyoung on the chair; Wonwoo on the bed directly next to it. He tucks his feet beneath his knees, watches a bit consciously as Soonyoung drinks in his room. Cream wallpaper, a cactus he tells Soonyoung is named Banana (Soonyoung snickers at this for a whole minute), and two tall bookshelves. “Are these your borrowed library books?” Soonyoung asks, referring to the stack on the desk beside a pen holder.

“Yeah, I’m trying to finish them soon,” Wonwoo says. “Most are due next week.”

“You’re planning to read them in a week?”

“Why not?” Wonwoo smiles. “Take out your own so we can discuss it. How was the paper last week?”

“Haven’t received marks yet,” Soonyoung says, taking out a book from his backpack and placing them beside Wonwoo’s stack. “Thank you, by the way. I finished it early because of you so I didn’t have to struggle with writing a paper and overseeing auditions at the same time.”

Wonwoo takes the book Soonyoung put out. “Oh right, you’re captain of the dance team.”

“Co-captain,” Soonyoung corrects.

“Co-captain. Right,” Wonwoo says. “How’s your role different from the captain?”

“Honestly, not much,” Soonyoung says. “Our captain’s the same one from last year but she’s taking her masters now and she’s extra busy so the co-captain takes over her role whenever she’s not available which is… often.”

“Do you have fourth years in the team?”

“A couple, yeah.”

“Oh, you must be really good at what you’re doing then,” Wonwoo comments. “Considering that they picked you instead of a fourth year as co-captain.”

Soonyoung flushes. “I just love what I do. That’s all.”

They sweep a whole hour off discussing the contents of the book. Diligently, Soonyoung takes down notes, claiming that his professor’s keen on pressing questions to the class and generous when giving extra points to those who answer. “I really, really need good marks more than ever,” Soonyoung explains.

Wonwoo tilts his head. “You on the running for honors or something?”

“No,” Soonyoung laughs. “I’m applying for an exchange program to a dance school in China.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah!” Soonyoung says. “It’s kind of prestigious so I really need high grades. I get to stay there for a month if I get in and learn from well-known dance teachers and know more about different dance styles.”

As Soonyoung continues to talk, lucid and beaming, Wonwoo listens. Even when Soonyoung finishes and turns his attention back to his book, there’s magnetism around him percolating still. Identifying the strange tug in his chest from earlier as the pull of Soonyoung’s moving passion, Wonwoo turns his book to the next page and shifts his focus to the words.

/

Somehow, the study sessions transpire to a regular thing. The hesitation’s blue-penciled out of Soonyoung’s head by the fourth time and now he’s comfortable enough to call Wonwoo up without feeling guilt. Now, they’re in Soonyoung’s room which Wonwoo sees for the first time. Pasted all over the walls are Shinee posters chipping off at the edges. They press their backs on these walls.

Wonwoo instructs Soonyoung to read three chapters before starting. He takes out a book of his own and starts reading to kill time. After what’s probably almost half an hour, Soonyoung breaks. He lies on his stomach and dog-ears the page. He says, “I’m bored.”

“You’re supposed to be reading,” Wonwoo replies, flipping a page.

“I can’t possibly read three chapters in an hour, Wonwoo.”

“I didn’t give you a time limit,” Wonwoo snorts. “I just said to read three chapters before we start. You’re the one who wanted to advance study today.”

“But I’m bored!”

“ _Read_ , Soonyoung,” he says, plucking the book off the mattress and pressing it on Soonyoung’s face. Soonyoung’s complaint drowns between the pages. “You’re the one who wanted to do this in the first place.”

The book slides from Soonyoung’s face back to the mattress. He asks, “How do you even have time to read so much?”

“I told you,” Wonwoo snorts. “I have nothing else to do. I’m a boring person.”

“No you’re not,” Soonyoung says.

At that, Wonwoo doesn’t reply. When he looks, he finds Soonyoung looking up at him expectantly. “I like playing PC games,” Wonwoo offers after a long while, feeling a bit conscious under Soonyoung’s gaze. “I only have my laptop with me back in the apartment and it’s terrible for gaming but I have a gaming set at home.”

“Why didn’t you bring it with you?”

“My mom thought it’d be a distraction to my studies,” Wonwoo chuckles. “I agree with her, though. I don’t go there much now but I used to go to PC gaming rooms a lot when I just moved here.”

“I never really got into gaming,” Soonyoung muses. “I was never really a tech-savvy person.”

“It’s fun,” Wonwoo says, and Soonyoung finally sits up, hair sticking skywards. He grabs the abandoned book from the mattress and flips it to a random page. “You should try it sometimes.”

He shrugs. “Eh.”

“Come on, try it,” Wonwoo says, and his mouth splits to a smile when he gets an idea. “Wanna go to a gaming room next time? I could teach you, if you want. It’s a really good way of relieving stress and you’re probably gonna need it sometime soon.”

“I’ll consider it.”

“C’mon,” he says, poking Soonyoung’s hand as he turns the book to another page again. Soonyoung pauses, looks at him with a sideways glance. “It’ll be fun. I promise.”

“Alright, I’ll go with you,” he relents, shaking his head with a smile when Wonwoo cheers. “Do you have any other hobbies and places you like going to?”

Wonwoo considers it. “Not really.”

“Don’t you hang out with your friends?”

“Sometimes, yeah,” Wonwoo says, shrugging. “But my closest friends are mostly busy because of extra-curricular activity. I don’t really talk to much people other than them.” Musing, he adds, “I think I’m kind of like Hoshi.”

Soonyoung hums, flipping a page. “What do you mean?”

“I wander around alone like him,” Wonwoo says thoughtfully. “And I don’t get too close to most people because I push them away. Not really much of a likeable cat.”

“Funny,” Soonyoung says, offhandedly, faintly that Wonwoo almost doesn’t hear him. “I like him despite all that.” But Wonwoo does, and he watches Soonyoung graze his fingers across the pages of a book. _Huh_ , Wonwoo thinks eloquently. _Huh._ The rest of his thoughts scatter across the book Soonyoung’s holding, situates itself between pages and pages of description and dialogue where it will remain unread between the lines.

/

They do go to a gaming room next time. It waits at the end of the crosswalk like a prize. As they wait for the pedestrian lights to turn green, Soonyoung asks, sounding a bit uncertain, “Is this where you go to all the time?”

“No,” Wonwoo says. “This is a new gaming room my friend—Seungcheol, you know him right?—recommended to me. He says it’s got up to date computer systems and a wider variety of games.”

“Sounds great,” Soonyoung says, and they walk across faded zebra-patterns when the cars in the intersection stop. He looks more and more apprehensive as they near the gaming room, its sign unlit, letters white and clear and not quite visible from afar in the afternoon haze.

When they reach the place, Wonwoo trudges in first. It’s a slow business day today, it seems. He counts four other costumers other than them in the shop. Video game characters glare at them from the posters on the wall. Someone half a shelf tall mans the front desk.

“Hello,” Wonwoo greets.

“Good afternoon,” he says back then his gaze zeroes in on the person shuffling directly behind. He _blinks-blinks-blinks_ until his mouth tugs at the slightest. He looks amused. “Oh, Soonyoung.”

“Jihoon, hey,” Soonyoung says, eyes darting from him to Wonwoo. “Didn’t think you’d be here.”

Drily, Jihoon responds, “I work here.”

Soonyoung introduces them to each other. “He’s my best friend,” he tells Wonwoo like it’s an afterthought. Jihoon snorts and gives them computers # 2 and # 3 to boot, just a few steps away from the entrance. Wonwoo proceeds first as Soonyoung stays on the front desk to chat with Jihoon for a while. They talk with their backs turned to Wonwoo—probably for privacy—so Wonwoo immediately slips on his headphones to mute their voices. When Soonyoung finally gets to their desks, he’s holding the snacks Wonwoo had ordered through the computer.

“Call if you need anything else,” Wonwoo thinks he hears Jihoon call, tone wry, from the desk. Soonyoung mutters something under his breath. Out loud, he says, “I don’t like our spot.”

Wonwoo chuckles, turning down the volume on his headphones. “What’s wrong with our spot?”

“Well, the sun’s staring directly at us, for one,” Soonyoung says, moving his seat a bit so it’s not blocking the door. “Which game do I open?” When Wonwoo turns to look at him, sunlight drills through the glass and sticks to his eyes.

/

Aged 19, Wonwoo decided to share his writing for the first time. There’d been a crosswalk of empty lines for those who wanted to sign up for the university’s paper on a coral scented stationery plastered beside room 105. Twelve names presented itself in five days—the name Jeon Wonwoo being one of them.

Wonwoo had submitted his application and portfolio the week after. After two weeks, he still hadn’t received an email. By three, Seungcheol had urged him to contact the head as a new paper—sky blue this time—is tacked on the announcements board listing names of those who got accepted.

Wonwoo was not one of them.

After almost four weeks, he received an email reply to his query about his application. It’s official, it said. The editorial board deemed his application not suitable enough to get accepted. On a lighter note, though, Wonwoo could still apply next year or in the following years.

Not wanting a second heartbreak, he never did.

/

There’s a dozing high school girl with three empty cups of coffee dotting the sides of her head and an old man reading a newspaper by the shop’s low awnings outside but other than that, Wonwoo and Soonyoung might as well have been alone. They’re both quiet, comfortable, reading in their own bubbles. Wonwoo for fun, and Soonyoung for the class.

It’s been twenty minutes since they’d started. Wonwoo could tell Soonyoung’s starting to get distracted. Nevertheless, he does his best to ignore Soonyoung when he pokes Wonwoo’s foot with his own under the table. Once, twice, three times—

“What do you want,” Wonwoo exhales, imagining his patience as a long stretch of moss-infested walls no one could crumble. Not even Soonyoung with his sledgehammer ankles. It helps, somehow. Soonyoung doesn’t say anything, just continues tapping Wonwoo’s foot like he’s trying to communicate through Morse codes. Wonwoo flips a page.

“Oh, hey—” Soonyoung starts, and when Wonwoo takes his eyes off his book he sees Soonyoung holding up a polaroid from the ground— _his_ polaroid. The same picture with him and Seulgi and the poem on the back. Instantly, Wonwoo swipes it from his hand.

“How sweet,” Soonyoung says as Wonwoo hides the polaroid away from watchful eyes. “Is that your favorite bookmark? You seem to be using it all the time.”

Long stretch of moss-infested walls—right. Wonwoo says, “No. It was the only thing available in my desk this morning.”

Soonyoung’s mouth forms a soundless _O_ like a gaping fish. Relieved at the lack of reply, Wonwoo continues reading. After a minute, Soonyoung speaks again. “I like that poem, you know,” he says just as Wonwoo turns to another page. “The one on the polaroid. And I’m not just saying this to be nice or anything because of our first meeting, but—”

“Okay, Soonyoung,” Wonwoo breathes. “Thank you. We don’t have to talk about it.”

“Right.”

Again, a brief moment of silence. Dozing girl three tables away jerks awake, almost hits the cup nearest to her stretched out fingers. New patrons—a couple this time with earth-toned coats—enter the tiny café. Three pages away from the end of the chapter, Soonyoung says, “Do you write as a hobby or is the poem just a random, one-time thing?”

Wonwoo wordlessly flips a page.

“Seems too good a poem for it to be your first time writing though,” Soonyoung comments, looking at Wonwoo, gauging for a reaction. Wonwoo doesn’t spare him a glance but he can see the defeated curve of his back slumping when Wonwoo doesn’t reply. Long stretch of moss-infested walls. They’re not just a metaphor for Wonwoo’s patience. They’re for protection too, guarding Wonwoo’s heart and thoughts like a citadel. Soonyoung, stubborn as ever, scales the wall with nimble hands and feet. After a quiet minute, Wonwoo says with a sigh and a defeated voice, “I tried to be a writer but I’m not really… cut out for it.”

“What?” Soonyoung asks, back straightening, eager to listen. “What do you mean?”

“I wrote a lot when I was younger,” Wonwoo admits, still holding his book, gaze unmoving and schooled blank. “But I never really showed any of my works to anyone until I got to college. I tried to apply for the university’s paper as a freshman.” He chuckles, hollow. “But I didn’t get in, so.”

“Didn’t you try applying again the next year?”

“Nah,” Wonwoo says. “It’s just… I think I never really improved, you know? From what I was in first year. So I thought, why would they accept me when they didn’t the first time?”

“That’s not true,” Soonyoung says, frowning, and he cuts Wonwoo off before he could oppose. “I don’t agree with that at all because we all improve in some way although we don’t notice or acknowledge it. You still continued to write even after that, didn’t you?”

Hesitantly, Wonwoo nods.

“See? Then I’m sure you’ve improved a lot after all that practice,” he says. “Also, the fact that you’re still doing it despite being rejected just proves that you’re passionate about it, right? That alone is proof enough that you should continue pursuing it.”

“It’s not that easy when your work’s not good enough despite being passionate about it.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Soonyoung says, making Wonwoo look up. “If you’re passionate about it, then it’s good enough. It’s never gonna be easy, you know. But you have to keep going anyway even if it hurts you or makes you cry or makes you bleed.” He adds, a bit softly, “How are you gonna know the pain’s all worth it in the end if you don’t even try?”

Wonwoo doesn’t respond for a while as the slow-spreading dread funnels to his chest. Turbulent thoughts flood like water from a broken dam and the painful memory resurfaces like a buoy. Amidst the ocean, Soonyoung’s smile is a visage of courage. Wonwoo clings to it like a lifeline.

When Soonyoung breaks the silence and says, “Wanna get out of here and get ice cream?” Wonwoo reaches the surface, breathes. He says back to Soonyoung, “You’re just using that as an excuse to not read.”

Soonyoung grins at the jab, relieved.

“I need a break, Wonwoo. _You_ need a break!” he laughs. “C’mon, just for a while, alright?”

Wonwoo relents. “Alright.”

/

“By the way,” starts Soonyoung, extracting a popsicle stick from the freezer, “we’re starting a new dance routine. I’ll probably be very occupied which is why I wanted to advance study today. I won’t have time to starting next week. “

Wonwoo spares him a glance. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” he says as Wonwoo’s gaze fleets to the packets of ice cream as he picks. “We wanna prepare as early as possible for the competition.”

“Good luck then,” Wonwoo says, “and because of that, I’m assigning you three more chapters to read when we go back.”

Soonyoung gapes.

“What?” Wonwoo laughs. “You said it yourself. You won’t have time to next week.”

When he finally grabs an ice cream, Soonyoung swipes it from his hand. “Tell you what,” he tells Wonwoo, “if I buy this for you, will you lessen the chapters?”

“No, Soonyoung,” he says, trying to take the ice cream back but Soonyoung’s already going straight to the cashier. “Stop. I didn’t agree to the whole paying thing. I’m not lessening the chapters.” Wonwoo’s complaints go unheard. “Soonyoung!”

Soonyoung refuses a plastic bag from the clerk. He hands the ice cream to Wonwoo with a grin and Wonwoo accepts it, eyes narrowing as he says, “Five more chapters for you.”

Soonyoung’s smile falls.

/

For a while, Wonwoo preoccupies himself with novels until the words start sounding unreal in his head. The back of his mind brims with words and unexplored ideas and the nagging urge to immortalize them. He thinks back to Soonyoung and his passion and how much he’s very unafraid to pursue it. He knows what he wants, knows his direction in life. He’s radiant and passionate and assured—everything Wonwoo has never been. And somehow, Wonwoo finds himself thinking, _if he can do it, then why can’t I?_

All his ideas sit like trinkets on a shelf. Like finding a lost treasure, Wonwoo’s thoughts stop and find purchase. One day, he picks up a pen and starts writing. He hasn’t stopped since.

“Wonwoo, dinner’s ready,” calls Seulgi’s voice from the kitchen now.

“In a minute!” Wonwoo calls back but he doesn’t get up in a minute or three or five. By seven, Seulgi’s head pokes from the door. “Wonwoo,” she sighs. “Come on. Come and eat dinner with me. I haven’t talked to you for days.”

Wonwoo’s pen hovers from a page. “I’ll be there in a bit.”

“It’s been almost ten minutes, Wonwoo,” Seulgi says, tone disapproving. “Is what you’re doing much too important to skip a meal for? I don’t think you’ve even eaten lunch yet.”

Wonwoo sighs, putting the pen down. He takes off his glasses, drags his hands over his face.

“What’s up with you?” Seulgi asks, now coming inside the room. The bed creaks lightly as her weight settles. “Is it school works? Exams? Is it college?”

“It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?” Seulgi asks. When Wonwoo doesn’t answer, Seulgi coaxes gently, “Can you at least give me something to tell Mom? She asks about you a lot, you know.”

“I’m just trying to prove something to myself,” Wonwoo says, knuckles hitting his pen. It rolls gently across the desk and hits a dead end on the spine of a book. _Whisper of the Heart_ , the title reads. “But tell Mom I’ll be fine.”

/

Wonwoo writes where inspiration strikes: at home, in the library, on campus. He puts down his chopsticks once during lunch in the cafeteria when he hears a line in his head. Immediately, he grabs his pen and notebook from his backpack and starts writing to elucidate on the idea budding in his head. He hears clutter in front of him but pays no attention.

Minutes later, when he chances a look up, he sees Soonyoung in front of him eating peacefully. He just smiles at Wonwoo wordlessly and gestures for him to continue. Surprised, Wonwoo does as told a beat too late. He bites back a smile and shakes his head before transferring the cascade of words from his head to the paper.

/

Wonwoo doesn't see Soonyoung for a while after lunch that day. He finishes what he's writing, though, during that window. Now, all his poems are pressed to his hands. Tightly bound by a single wick, papers an assortment of white and scented and colored. Whatever was available on Wonwoo at the time. A rough draft’s what it is, and for some reason he finds himself idling in front of the same antique shop. As if to encourage him, Hoshi meows at him from where he’s perched on the window. Wonwoo knocks on the heavy brass door.

“Just a minute!”

When the door opens, Soonyoung’s father stands behind it. He smiles when he sees Wonwoo, eyes lighting up in recognition. “Oh, Wonwoo,” he says, apparently having been told about his name by his son. “What a pleasant surprise. I’m afraid Soonyoung’s not around, though?”

At that, Wonwoo smiles. “I actually came here to talk to you. If that’s alright.”

He looks surprised but his face easily morphs to a friendly smile. “Well then if that’s the case, come in.”

Natural light trickles in when he opens the windows. They’re closed today, he’s saying. Some sort of a big repair job going on for the past week. He offers Wonwoo tea, tells him to make himself at home on the tall chair. He makes small talk for a few moments as the chamomile brews. After a few seconds, he asks, “Oh, I just remembered. What did you want to talk about?”

“Um, actually, I’ve been working on my portfolio to submit for the school paper and I just finished it,” Wonwoo says as Soonyoung’s dad digs around for a teacup that isn’t for sale. “I’m here because I wanted to ask you if you could be the first person to read it?”

He looks surprised but his tone isn’t unkind when he turns and asks, “Why me?”

“My portfolio’s a collection of poems called _Antique_ ,” Wonwoo explains, a bit embarrassed, “And all of the poems are based on items found on this shop. Or stuff I could remember, anyway. I just thought it’d be fitting for the owner of the shop to be the first person to read my work.” He hands Soonyoung’s dad the pressed paperback. “I’m… not quite sure if it’s good yet.”

His fingers drag across the papers. “These are a lot of poems.”

“You can take your time reading them. I’ll wait until you finish,” Wonwoo says, gaze ducking. He croaks. “Please.”

He observes Wonwoo for a quiet moment before smiling. A warm understanding smile that vaguely reminds him of Soonyoung. He places the poems down for a while to turn off the singing kettle. When he finally hands Wonwoo the brewed tea, warmth transferring to his fingers, he picks the papers back up. “I’m a very slow reader,” he warns Wonwoo, laughing a bit. “Just a bit of a warning.”

It takes him a while to pore through the poems. Takes them in slowly, turns pages at every odd minute. They’re all telling stories of items he’s familiar with—the lapis lazuli, the carousel, the grandfather clock. He’d even tried writing about the silver anchor bracelet but none of his attempts seemed enough for the meaning and the history it held. All his poems about it remain discarded and crumpled up on his desk. When Soonyoung’s dad finishes, Wonwoo’s teacup is half empty, half cold.

Gathering courage, Wonwoo asks, “How was it?”

“It was good,” says Soonyoung’s father after a while.

Wonwoo feels strange, fingers fidgeting. “You can tell me the truth, please. It’s okay.”

“It was good, Wonwoo-yah,” he says, smiling, hands grazing the papers for the last time before handing it back to Wonwoo. “It was interesting to read about inanimate objects described with such care and such admiration. It was refreshing.”

“You said it was good,” Wonwoo repeats, the words sounding heavy and unfamiliar in his tongue. It just doesn’t sound right. “Did you really mean it?”

“I did.”

“I don’t…” he swallows, “I don’t think it’s good enough yet. It’s not yet perfect.”

“I said it was good, not perfect, Wonwoo,” he laughs kindly. “Of course, naturally, there are things you could improve on but that doesn’t make it any less bad. It’s still a good collection of poems for me. It doesn’t have to be perfect for it to be worth the read. You’re still learning, after all.”

At that, Wonwoo exhales. Slow, defeated. Beneath his ribs sits relief which Wonwoo allows to spread, to reverberate in his chest and bones and veins. For the first time in a long time, he feels acceptance. His nerve ends sing with hope. “Thank you,” he breathes. “Thank you so much.”

/

The shelves on this part of the library are castles-high. Tall, like a fortress. All the books are compressed tight, allowing only little light to trickle through from the outside. Somewhere in these shelves is Wonwoo’s favorite book and it sits at the end of the string of his thoughts. In his mind’s a short list of books to read pasted like a note on a refrigerator but he discards it for now. Maybe he can do some rereading today, revisit all the universes that has ever inspired him to write.

More than ten minutes later, he has an arm full of books as he walks to the tables. The teal headphones are secured tight on Hansol’s ears when Wonwoo passes him by but he raises his head to smile when he hears the heavy thud of Wonwoo’s books. Kitchen by Banana Yoshimoto—the topmost reads. Wonwoo swipes it from the stack and leafs it open.

Instantly, his eyes fleet to the small, unassuming library card. It isn’t surprising to see his name logged in to three, four entries. What’s surprising, though, is the latest log. On the bottom of the yellowing paper reads a very familiar name—Kwon Soonyoung.

 _Huh_ , Wonwoo thinks, a bit amused, mind spanning to Soonyoung’s expression when Wonwoo had first told him about this being his favorite book. _He must’ve been curious_.

Discarding his amusement, Wonwoo starts to read his book. He has half the mind to text Soonyoung about it but he doesn’t and continues flipping through the pages. The story, the words, the characters Wonwoo has adored for years but he realizes not more than five minutes later that his mind is on a faraway place today. For some reason, he can’t lose himself in the book like he usually does.

There are three more Japanese Literature books on his stack sitting just right by his line of vision. They’re titles not a part of Soonyoung’s class module but ones he’s mentioned to Soonyoung nevertheless. Like the book he’s reading now. And if Soonyoung was interested enough to borrow it from the library then perhaps the others…. ?

In the end, he succumbs.

Wonwoo grabs one of the books and flips it open. The library card proves his suspicion. And as he checks the rest of the books, the other cards show the same thing. Strangely, though, Soonyoung’s logs showcase dates that are months and even years before Soonyoung even met Wonwoo. It’s there—unmistakeable on all three library cards—the name Kwon Soonyoung. Always written in messy, too-curved Hangul and always written below Wonwoo’s name. He must’ve been downplaying himself when he told Wonwoo he didn’t read a lot.

Shelving his thoughts, Wonwoo closes the books. He grabs a shorter novel from the stack fit for his unusually fleeting attention span today. Jeon Wonwoo—reads a log. Directly below spells Kwon Soonyoung dated four days after Wonwoo had returned it. Like the previous books. They’re the only two people who had ever borrowed the book.

Automatically, he reaches for another book. And another one. The pattern continues—both in Japanese Lit and non-Japanese Lit books. Jeon Wonwoo and Kwon Soonyoung. Soonyoung’s name is printed in all the library cards of the books Wonwoo has borrowed—right there, trailing, like footsteps on the sand. It’s all some sort of weird coincidence, it feels like. Their trailing names on the library cards seem to be the universe’s strange preface to their friendship. All these years of reading the same pages of word must’ve allowed them to naturally gravitate towards each other’s axis.

When Wonwoo asks Hansol if he knows Soonyoung, he just smiles. Knowing, loaded.

“He’s been coming here longer than I’ve been working here, that’s for sure,” Hansol says. As usual, the music on his headphones softly blare through the foam. Someone sings to the coincidence in a crooning tenor.

/

As if another one of the weird universe-sent signs, Wonwoo sees Hoshi outside the library. He’s in a mood today and he doesn’t come when Wonwoo beckons him over. Still, it takes Wonwoo less than a minute to decide his next course of action.

Following Hoshi, he lets his feet take him to the familiar hilly neighbourhood like it’s the end of summer all over again.

/

Wonwoo’s back is glued flat to the heavy wooden door. They’re actually closed today, it seems. Soonyoung’s father hadn’t even left the door open for Hoshi. So they sit—Hoshi and him—on the wooden porch meeting the sidewalk gravel. Hoshi quietly purrs as Wonwoo runs his fingers through his fur.

His mind floats like an aimless cloud. He doesn’t how long he sits there, has no idea why he’s sticking around either. Just keeps stroking his fingers on fur until the touch feels unreal. Until his thoughts reach a sleepy lull and until two feet with socked ankles line up in front of him. When he looks up, Soonyoung is looking down at him with a questioning gaze.

“What are you doing there?” he asks, and Wonwoo’s thoughts pick itself back up from the momentary lull. “Get up. You’ll get your slacks dirty.”

Soonyoung leads him to an iron fenced gate that opens to a space with an array of colorful laundry neatly lined up. Wordlessly, he follows, noticing Soonyoung’s hair sticking up from behind like a comet tail and resisting the urge to pet it down. As they walk, the ground slopes downwards to vine-covered steps like they’re about to enter a whole other world. They reach a long balcony showcasing a view of the whole neighbourhood when they descend. Overhead, the sky stretches out in an infinite orange.

“Dad had to make a delivery so we’re closed,” Soonyoung is telling him as he searches his bag for the keys. “And I had practice too so I wasn’t able to guard the shop.”

“How’s practice?”

“Good,” Soonyoung says. “We’re shortening the hours starting tomorrow though because exams are coming up in two weeks.” He chances a look at Wonwoo as he opens the door, searching gaze unconsciously pulling Wonwoo’s spine taut. “Wow. I haven’t seen you in, like, two weeks. How have you been?”

“I’ve been doing okay,” Wonwoo says. “And it’s only been a week and three days.”

Soonyoung blinks, obviously surprised. Slowly, his mouth tugs up in amusement until it spreads wide like he’s physically unable to stop himself from smiling. It makes Wonwoo embarrassed. “Right, okay, yeah. A week and three days,” Soonyoung grins, and the door creaks open as he gestures. “After you.”

“I have to leave you alone for a while to shower,” Soonyoung says, switching the lights on. “You can stay here. Or if you want, you can go up to the shop”—he points to the metal stairs next to a faraway wall—“and open the door for Hoshi.”

“I don’t want to intrude,” Wonwoo hedges.

“You’re not,” Soonyoung reassures. “You can even stay for dinner, if you want. I can cook you something.” He lingers in front of the door to his bedroom. “I’ll be back, alright? Don’t disappear on me.”

Wonwoo lets his gaze wander when Soonyoung leaves the room. A small aquarium sits gingerly on top of a wooden table and he gravitates to it like he did the first time he visited. Soonyoung has installed new lights, it seems. Blue-yellow spills like yolk across the glass floor. The guppy—Nami—swims through seaweed in aimless circles. Releasing air bubbles every second, looking at Wonwoo in alarm when he taps on the glass and then away.

When Nami ignores him for three minutes straight, Wonwoo decides to go to the shop. The metal stairs creak as if in protest. He blindly reaches for the switch on the wall and lights finally flood after a brief struggle. The grandfather clock, he notices, is nowhere to be seen. Hoshi immediately walks in the moment Wonwoo opens the door for him.

“Do you know where the grandfather clock went?” Wonwoo asks Hoshi. He doesn’t answer, of course.

There are new mantelpieces, he realizes, as he goes around. More wood, more gems. He drinks in the beauty and imagines the history. Like before, he feels the unexplainable feeling of familiarity in the shop. The quirkiness of it all makes him feel like home. From his peripheral vision, he catches a glimpse of a cabinet tucked far away and remembers what it houses. And when he checks, the anchor bracelet from before is still there, waiting. He doesn’t know how long he stares at it until he hears Soonyoung call him from downstairs. Immediately, he comes down, Hoshi coming along with him.

“Is Kimchi fried rice okay for you?” Soonyoung asks, hair still wet from the shower, comet tail gone. Wonwoo nods. Soonyoung looks at the feline between his ankles. “Oh, hey, Hoshi. Don’t try to kill Nami this time please.”

“Do you need help?”

“No, it’s alright,” Soonyoung says, taking out the ingredients from the kitchen cabinets and the refrigerator. “Wait, actually, you can prepare the table. The plates and utensils are in the cabinet next to the sink.”

They work in between scattered chatters. Soonyoung tells him about the dance club; Wonwoo tells him about his classes. Hoshi meows in the hallway. As the rice cooks, they stumble across the topic of the antique shop. Wonwoo asks about the missing grandfather clock.

“Oh, that’s the delivery Dad is making right now,” Soonyoung says. “It was only here for a repair job and we finally finished it months later. It’s supposed to be delivered somewhere in Seoul, I think.”

“Pretty far.”

“Yeah. He had his buddies to help him, though,” Soonyoung hums, pouring Kimchi in the pan, bleeding scarlet on the white rice. “By the way, he mentioned that you visited again a couple of days ago. He also said you were a good writer.”

Wonwoo pauses. “Did he?”

“Yeah,” Soonyoung says. “Did you let him read one of your works or something?”

“Oh. Yeah, I did,” Wonwoo says, looking away when Soonyoung catches his gaze. “I let him read my portfolio for the school paper.”

Soonyoung is visibly surprised. “The school paper?”

“I’ve been thinking of applying again,” Wonwoo says, fidgeting. “I’m not sure, though. I have to edit my portfolio again before I decide if I really want to or not.”

“Oh,” Soonyoung blinks. “Oh! That’s—wow. That’s amazing, Wonwoo!” He grins, expression impossibly bright under the kitchen lights, the corner of his eyes bunching up in happiness. “I’m so, so happy for you.”

Wonwoo feels oddly embarrassed, blames it on the topic of his writing. Flushing, he says, “It’s not a big deal.”

“Of course it is!” Soonyoung says, disbelieving laughter spilling out of his mouth. “You’re finally taking a chance, Wonwoo. The world’s gonna see your amazing writing!”

“It’s just a small university paper,” Wonwoo says. “And you haven’t even read any of my works yet other than that stupid poem.”

“Will you let me read them, then?” Soonyoung smiles, eyes twinkling.

Wonwoo hastily extracts his gaze from Soonyoung’s eyes like it’s a trap. “No.”

“Come on,” Soonyoung complains. “How come you let my Dad read your works but you won’t let me?”

“You’re not worthy,” Wonwoo says, trying to go for scathing but failing miserably. Soonyoung doesn’t respond but as Wonwoo opens his mouth to say something else, mark it as a joke, Soonyoung, for one last time, pleads, “Please?”

Wonwoo opens his mouth, closes it. Swallows through a mouthful of useless syntaxes to say, “After I revising it, I might.”

He finds the beginnings of a poem—but not courage—at the end of his fiddling origami hands.

/

When Soonyoung sees Wonwoo to the door, the expanse outside is a picture of a near slumbering neighbourhood. Somewhere past the moth-like lights of houses, across suburban living, stands the buildings of Seoul, sky-high and visible from here if Wonwoo squints hard enough. He can taste the fiction in his mouth.

“This looks straight out of a novel,” Wonwoo says, sudden. “Have you ever thought how life would’ve been so much better if we were book characters?”

Soonyoung laughs, and a thought comes like a single falling star in the vast sky. Absentmindedly, Wonwoo thinks that the lights are nothing compared to Soonyoung’s smile. Soonyoung says, “You read too much books.”

At that, Wonwoo remembers. He is reminded of castles of books and library cards spelling familiar names. He says, “You do, too.”

“Well, probably. Because of my class.”

“No. I know you’ve read a lot of books before,” Wonwoo says, mind once again alight at the coincidence he’d stumbled upon. “I saw your name on the library cards.”

Soonyoung visibly tenses. “What?”

“I was rereading some of my favorite books in the library earlier,” Wonwoo explains. “I don’t know why you keep saying you don’t read when you’ve read a lot of the books I have. All your names were under each and every one of mine. It was like fate or something.”

Soonyoung looks shocked. He swallows, schools his expression to brighter one. Letting out a laugh that sounds uncertain than it is genuine, he says, “Wow. Weird coincidence.”

Wonwoo notices the sudden shift. Choosing not to comment, he says instead, “Yeah. Weird.”

/

Their next study session is formulaic in essence. Wonwoo assigns chapters to read; Soonyoung slowly pores through them. They make idle talk during breaks. For some reason, though, something feels different. His attentiveness always increases tenfold when it comes to Soonyoung for unknown reasons and he doesn’t know if he’s looking at now with microscope lens as always or if there’s an actual shift in atmosphere between them. He doesn’t know if he’s reading too much between the lines either like these novels had taught him. But there seems to be traffic between their words—in the way they interact, in the way they move around each other. There’s hesitation in both parties.

Similar to how Wonwoo followed Hoshi a few days ago, he feels the same feeling. It’s as if he hasn’t quite gone past the prologue of a story yet.

“Is everything okay?” Wonwoo dares to ask.

Soonyoung hasn’t moved a single page in five minutes. Distracted, he looks at Wonwoo and then back to his book to say, “Yeah, of course. Everything is fine.”

/

Soonyoung becomes more elusive after that. No texts, no visits. Trying not to think about it, Wonwoo chalks it up to them both being busy. Soonyoung has dance practice and Wonwoo has to revise his portfolio. Plus, they both have upcoming exams with subjects better off studied alone. Their lives don’t revolve around each other.

Wonwoo comes home to Seulgi crying one day.

“Noona?” Wonwoo calls out, worried, voice carrying above the muffled sobs from the library-turned-bedroom. “Seulgi-noona, what’s wrong?”

Seulgi’s curled up on herself when he enters. Knees up to her chest, tears washing her skin. She cries—quiet, hiccupping. Working clothes unchanged. “Hey,” Wonwoo says, sitting next to her, chest aching at the sight. “Hey, what’s wrong? What happened?”

Seulgi doesn’t say anything. Just keeps her eyes pressed tight against her knees as if with the intent to bruise. “Noona,” Wonwoo says, gingerly taking one of her wrists, “Come on, tell me what’s wrong. What can I do to help?”

“You can’t do anything,” Seulgi finally says, looking up. Voice scratchy, eyes red-rimmed. “He broke up with me.”

“Your boyfriend?” Wonwoo says disbelievingly. When Seulgi nods, he tries to keep his anger at bay, coming closer instead. “Did he say why?”

Seulgi shakes her head. “I don’t want to talk about it right now.”

“Okay,” Wonwoo says, and Seulgi finally, finally leans in to meet her brother’s arms. Her tears soak his shoulder as she starts to cry once again but he finds that he doesn’t care. A flood bursts in his chest. Their mother has always told them that they were too receptive around each other as kids. If his older sister cried, then Wonwoo did too. Like he’s feeling Seulgi’s pain himself. This time, though, he feels it deeply more than ever—the fish hook gutting in his own chest. Matters of the heart are funny like that.

When Seulgi’s quiet sobs have died down, she lifts her head from his shoulder. Her eyes carry storms where there’s usually light. “Guard your heart, Wonwoo-yah,” she says, and for a brief moment Wonwoo hears Soonyoung recite _Twin feline eyes_ in his head. “Don’t just offer it to anyone.”

“I promise,” Wonwoo says, faintly. _Guard your heart. Twin feline eyes._ He wonders why he keeps getting reminded of Soonyoung. His mind shifts from the silly poem until his thoughts are a litany of slanted eyes and familiar names on library cards and infectious smiles. In the supercut: a memory of Soonyoung talking about his passion for dancing with all the lights in his body threatening to burst at the seams, and Wonwoo thinking if he could bottle up all that brightness he’d have enough to get by during cloudy days. It comes to Wonwoo in short breaths. _Inhale_ —the realization comes, sharp, like a knife. _Exhale_ —the disbelief and his defeat all at once.

 _Oh_. Guard your heart, Jeon Wonwoo. _Okay._

/

Wonwoo shelves his newfound feelings like an unopened book. He studies, revises his portfolio, writes. Anything to get his mind off of the unrequited. On a Saturday, two days after his realization and five since he and Soonyoung had last seen each other, Wonwoo wakes up unusually early. The first thing he does is raise the blinds from his windows.

Like a slumbering flower following the first light of the sun, his head turns to a certain direction. It’s subconscious, his reaction. Learned heliotropism. And if Wonwoo’s the photosynthesizing plant, then the sun’s situated east and wearing a blinding windbreaker and goes by the name of Kwon Soonyoung.

He notices Soonyoung’s holding up his phone. Pointing to it like he’s trying to say something.

Panicking, and then realizing, and then panicking all over again, he fishes his phone beneath his pillows. Printed on the screen’s a text waiting for him from Soonyoung himself. _Come on out if you’re up,_ reads the text. He immediately unlocks his phone with a shaky heart and replies.

/

“Did you see my text before opening the window?”

“No,” Wonwoo replies. They’re walking towards somewhere Wonwoo doesn’t know but he trusts Soonyoung enough so he follows. The road’s only starting to soak up last night’s Autumn rain. “I just woke up and thought I should open the windows.”

“I was calling you out in my mind,” Soonyoung says. “You weren’t replying to my text but I thought I’d wait outside.”

Wonwoo adjusts his jacket. “Where are we going anyway?”

“You’ll see,” Soonyoung smiles, secretive, and Wonwoo has to look away.

From here, the ground slopes upward to a road stranger to archaic houses and morning traffic and even people. Clumps of grass grow from the tiniest cracks on the ground as if in rebellion. Soonyoung plucks a dandelion from the sidewalk and hands it to him.

Wonwoo swallows. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

“You’re supposed to blow on it,” Soonyoung says, and from where Wonwoo would normally see him as lucid and lovely, he sees him as he is: a boy with sandy hair and crooked relief patches on his skin from hours of practice. Yet Wonwoo still finds it as easy as ever to fall into his smile. When he blows on the dandelion, ivory parachutes and scatters to the wind. Soonyoung smiles and Wonwoo’s feelings spreads with the dandelion seeds into the breeze.

“This is the spot,” Soonyoung finally says after a few minutes of walking.

A transverse view of their tiny city greets their sight. Bonnet roofs, decaying telephone poles, and skeleton trees. On the horizon, the skies graze the architecture of their city—cloud castles on cement buildings. Wonwoo feels his breath catch.

“Beautiful, huh?” Soonyoung remarks, sitting down on a ledge and patting the spot next to him. Wonwoo follows. “I discovered this spot months ago while making a small delivery to a house somewhere up here.”

“It’s beautiful,” Wonwoo agrees, taking in the sight. “But… but everything looks so tiny from where we are.”

“Yeah,” Soonyoung says. “Kind of makes you feel insignificant if even the tallest building looks small here. But it just pushes me to do better and achieve more, you know? If my life is nothing but a tiny blimp in this city’s history then I’m determined to make it count.”

Something in Wonwoo’s chest tugs. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Soonyoung smiles, eyes directed forward. “You know, I think I’m going to China. I talked to the office and the counsellor said my performance both in class and in the dance club have been good so far. If I ace those exams then I’ll surely get into the program.”

“That’s—” Wonwoo inhales, feeling his chest blossom, “That’s amazing, Soonyoung. You deserve it, really.”

Soonyoung flushes but he laughs. “Thank you.”

“I’m proud of you,” Wonwoo says, genuine, and his cheeks mirror Soonyoung’s at the admission. He resists the urge to bite his tongue. “I hope you learn lots of things and enjoy your time in China. When are you leaving?”

“After the Winter break,” Soonyoung says, then pauses and purses his lips. Finally, he looks at Wonwoo. “I didn’t come bring you here to talk about that though. I actually wanted to tell you something.”

Wonwoo senses the hesitation. “What is it?”

“I guess I should start by giving you this,” Soonyoung says, looking for something in his pocket. When he takes out his hands, he’s holding a familiar-looking velvet box which he places on the space between them. Hesitantly, Wonwoo picks it up and opens it to see the silver bracelet Wonwoo’s been eyeing for months. He can’t contain his surprise.

“Soonyoung,” Wonwoo says, and the drumming in his chest starts. “Soonyoung, what is this?”

“Before you say anything, please hear me out,” Soonyoung says, voice shaky, nerves inevitably showing. He drags his gaze from Wonwoo to the skyline as if to hide the tell in his eyes. “I have something important to say, okay? I’ve been working on this for days so please hear me out.”

Wonwoo swallows.

“We only met this summer,” Soonyoung starts with a deep breath. “but I actually noticed you a long, long time ago." Wonwoo looks away. "I first spotted you reading at the library. I wasn’t really the type to go there, you know that, but during finals for freshman year my friend dragged me with him to study and then I saw you. You were there, day by day, and I always noticed you."

Soonyoung says, “My friend stopped going to the library after the exams but I didn’t.”

“I was interested, I guess,” Soonyoung adds, laughing shakily. “but you never noticed me, right? I walked past you hundreds of times. I even sat near you once and that’s when I noticed the books you were reading. I remembered all the titles and waited for you to finish them so I could borrow them days later. I thought if you were reading these same words then I could finally get to you somehow. I wanted to know you better through these stories.”

Emotions stirring, Wonwoo couldn’t stop himself from asking. “So… the books?”

“Yeah. I borrowed all those books because of you,” Soonyoung admits quietly. “All these books just so my name could be next to yours. It’s been going on for years. I even took that Japanese Literature class because I thought you’d be there.”

“I guess what I’m trying to say is that I like you,” Soonyoung exhales the admission, and Wonwoo feels something lodge itself into his throat, hummingbird vibrations coursing through his skin. “You know why I was hesitant going to the public library with you that one time?” He asks, “It’s because I knew Hansol could tell. He was the only one who realized out of all the librarians. Pretty smart, that kid.”

Wonwoo finds his voice. “Does anyone else know?”

“Jihoon, of course, that’s why he was relentless when he saw us together.”

Wonwoo nods, nerves still singing. “So…”

“So that’s it,” Soonyoung says, like it’s final, and when Wonwoo gets the courage to look at him, he finds that Soonyoung has been looking all this time. 

“And this bracelet?”

“I managed to convince my dad to let me buy it from him,” Soonyoung says, looking at the sky once again. “He told me about your interest in it the first time but I guess he hadn’t put two and two together yet.” He hums. “Or maybe he has. Who knows? The only thing he told me is that I could have it as long as I give it to someone who embodies love.”

Wonwoo feels the horizon, the sun, the Autumn breeze all at once. _A letter from the sky_ , he remembers the note that came along with the bracelet. When Soonyoung returns his gaze to Wonwoo, he finally understands what it means. The reflection in Soonyoung’s eyes: the sky, and Jeon Wonwoo. His irises carry words all the love letters in the world could never convey. Accepting his fate, Wonwoo lets himself drown in them.

“You know,” Wonwoo breathes, poems rising in him, “I like you too.”

Soonyoung’s face illuminates itself like a thousand suns. “What?”

“I like you,” Wonwoo repeats. “It took me quite some time to realize but I’ve never been more sure of anything in my entire life.” 

They stay quiet for a moment until Soonyoung laughs. Content and happy and golden. Wonwoo can’t stop the laughter spilling out of his mouth either. Out here, the dragonflies alight into the morning sky. The city wakes up and prepares for another day. Somewhere, someone continues to read a novel from yesterday. Breathes in the words, turns the story to another page. Soonyoung and Wonwoo finally find each other. In a way, it feels like summer all over again.

/

Wonwoo finishes revising his portfolio. He prints them on spotless, creaseless papers and saves the poem he’d written overnight about the anchor bracelet hanging from his wrist for the last page. He makes three copies of the collection of poems: one for him, one for submission to the school paper. The last one he sticks into the mailbox outside a very familiar shop situated up the hills. _To Kwon Soonyoung_ , the front page reads. _From the sky._

**Author's Note:**

> .... yes when i read the plot i thought seiji had been borrowing the books bec shizuku had borrowed them beforehand. anyway thank you so much for reading ! also:
> 
> there’s a lot going on right now so stay informed. stay safe. do what you can to [help](https://forjusticeforpeace.carrd.co) whether it directly affects you or not. additionally, if you wanna donate to blm but you have no money please watch this [video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bCgLa25fDHM&feature=youtu.be) & make sure to leave the ads running bec it will help make money which will be donated!
> 
> happy pride. i love u all


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